Kiss Me Slow (Top Shelf Romance Book 1)

by Tijan

  Jase

  “I love the smell afterward,” I comment, listening to the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. I lit it for the heat and the light both as Bethany lays against me, still on the floor.

  Although I used the thick blanket to dry her off, her hair’s still damp and the light from the fire casts shadows against her features, making me want to kiss along every vulnerable curve she has.

  “The char?” she asks weakly, sleep pulling her in. The adrenaline should be waning now. Sleep will come for her soon and I hope it comes for me too.

  “The water. It has a smell to it, when it puts out the fire.”

  “It does,” she agrees and then lifts her head, placing a small hand on my chest as I stay on my back. “Will you tell me something?”

  “What?”

  “Anything,” she requests in a single breath and lies against my chest. Spearing my fingers through her hair, I think of the worst of times in this room. I think of the fire, the way it feels like everything will end, the intensity and the simplicity of it all being washed away.

  “Do you know how many men I’ve killed?” I ask her as the question rocks in my mind. “Because I don’t.”

  Although I keep running my fingers along her back and then up to her neck, noting the way the fire warms her skin with a gorgeous glow, her own hand has stilled, and her breathing has stopped.

  “Are you scared?” I ask her and she shakes her head, letting her hair tickle up my side. “I just don’t want to do anything to stop you from saying more. I want to know.”

  “I used to keep count and memorize their names,” I admit to her and remember when I first built this room. Its purpose was different then and the memory causes my throat to tighten.

  “I’d sit here, and let the fire go. I’d let it burn whatever I’d brought, I’d let it spread and surround me. All the while, spouting off each person’s name. Every person I murdered with intent or for survival. Every one of them. And there were many.

  “At first, I’d give both first and last names. Then it became only first names because I’d run out of time otherwise. I thought if I could say them all before the fire went out, it’d be some kind of redemption. In the beginning I could do it. I could say them all before the water would come down. It never made me feel any better, but I did it anyway.

  “Then I started forgetting,” I confess. “Too many to remember, and the names all ran together. Some names I didn’t want to say out loud. Names of men who I’ll see in hell and smile knowing I put them there.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Bethany admonishes me. She whispers, “I don’t like you talking like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re going to die and go to hell. Don’t say that.” The seriousness of her tone makes me smirk at her with disbelief.

  “Of everything I’ve done and said, that’s why you’re scolding me?”

  “I’m serious. I don’t like it.” She settles herself back down and nestles into me, seeming more awake now than before and with tears in her eyes.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not,” she tells me. “And you’re not a bad man. You just do bad things and there’s a difference. God knows there’s a difference, and I do too.”

  “Don’t cry for me.” I offer her a weak smile and brush under her eyes. Her soft skin begs me to keep touching her, to keep soothing her and never stop.

  “I’m not,” she repeats although she wipes her eyes and tries to hide it. “Don’t talk about you dying... and we have a deal.”

  She doesn’t look me in the eyes until I tilt her chin up, lifting my shoulders off the ground to kiss her gently and whisper, “deal,” against her lips. I can feel her heart beat against mine. This is the moment I want to keep forever. If ever given a choice, I’ll choose this one.

  “Tell me something else.” She states it like it’s a command, but I can hear the plea in her voice.

  “Something nicer to hear?” I let a chuckle leave me with the question in an attempt to ease her.

  “No, doesn’t have to be nice. Just something more about you.” The fire sparks beside us as I look down at her. Her bare chest presses against mine and I drink her in. The goodness of her, the softness of her expression.

  “Hal, the man I killed… he hurt Angie. You heard me mention her before.”

  The mention of another woman’s name makes her pause and I remind her, “She wasn’t mine and I didn’t want her like that, but I’ve always felt responsible for what happened.”

  “What happened to her?” She doesn’t blink as she whispers her question staring into the fire.

  “She came and went when we first… opened the club… she was one of our regulars on the weekends. Buying whatever she wanted to party with her friends.”

  “Drugs?” Bethany asks and I nod, waiting for judgment but none comes.

  “One day she came to the bar on a weekday. I thought it was odd. She was dressed all in black and her makeup was smudged around her eyes. She wanted something hard. That’s what she asked for, ‘something hard.’” The memory plays itself in the fire and brings with it a hollowness in my chest.

  “I told her to get a drink, but she demanded something else. So I told her no. I sent her away.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought she would have regretted it. She’d just come from her father’s funeral. There was nothing I had that would take that pain away and I knew she’d chase it with something stronger when it didn’t work. She went to someone else. And I regret sending her away. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take a lot of it back. By the time I saw her again, she’d changed and done things she didn’t want to live with anymore. She was so far gone… and I’m the one who watched her walk away and sent her to someone else. Someone who didn’t care and didn’t mind if she became a shell of a person who regretted everything.”

  “You tried to help her. You can’t be sorry about that.” Bethany’s adamant although sorrow lingers in her cadence.

  “I can still be sorry about it, cailín tine,” I whisper the truth as I brush her hair back. “And I am. I’m sorry about a lot of things. Mistakes in this world are costly. I’ve made more than my share of them.”

  “That doesn’t make you a bad man,” she whispers against my skin, rubbing soothing strokes down my arm, desperate to console me.

  “You remind me a little of her in a way,” I admit to her. “She was a good person. Angie was good, what I knew of her. She was good but sometimes dabbled in the bad and was able to walk away. I needed her to be able to walk away. To go back to everything and be just fine. To still be good. It made me feel like it was fine. I thought what we were doing was fine; that it was a necessary evil. It’s simply something that’s inevitable and something we’d rather control than give to someone else. But it’s not fine and it never will be.”

  Bethany asks, “You think I’m a good person, dabbling in the bad?” Her voice chokes and she refuses to look at me even when I cup her chin.

  “It’s the same with you. I’m not comparing you to her. She’s nothing compared to you but the good. You have so much good in you. Even if you cuss up a storm when you’re mad and try to shoot strangers.”

  The small joke at least makes her laugh a small feminine sound between her sniffling.

  “I’m not willing to let you go though – I’m afraid you’ll never come back to me. Or worse, that you won’t be able to go back to the good.”

  “You are not bad,” she says and her words come out hard which is at odds with the tears in her eyes.

  “I’m not good, Bethany. We both know it.”

  “And I’m not all good either. In fact, there are a lot of people out there who would tell you I’m a bitter bitch and they hate me,” she attempts to joke, but it comes out with too much emotion. “You don’t have to know if I’ll still be good if I walk away, Jase. I don’t want to walk away. And we can be each other’s goods and bads. People are supposed to be a mix
of both, I think. You need that in the world, don’t you? You are needed,” she emphasizes, not waiting for my answer. “And I need you,” she whispers with desperation.

  “I’m right here,” I comfort her and she lets me hold her, clinging to me as if I’m going to leave her.

  It’s quiet as she calms herself down and I think she’s gone to sleep after a while, but then she asks, “Is this… is this cards or bricks for you?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m insecure and I need to know. It’s one of the bad parts of me. I’m insecure.”

  “You need to know… cards or bricks?” I ask, still not understanding.

  “There are two kinds of relationships. The first is like a house built of cards; it’s fun, but you know it’s going to fall down eventually. Or you can have a house made of bricks. Bricks don’t fall. Sometimes they’re a little rough and it takes time to get them right, but they don’t fall down. They’re not supposed to anyway--”

  “Bricks.” I stop her rambling with the single word. “I’m not interested in cards. I don’t have time for games.”

  “Then why lie to me?” She whispers the question with a pained expression. With her hand on my chest, she looks into my eyes. “I don’t want to fight; I just want to understand.”

  “I kept you a few steps behind me. That’s how I saw it. Not because I didn’t trust you – I didn’t trust that the information I had wouldn’t hurt you. I didn’t want to give you false hope.”

  She’s quiet, and I don’t know if she believes me. “Please. Trust me.”

  “I do. I trust you.” At the same time she answers me, my phone pings from where I left it in the pile of clothes.

  Bethany doesn’t object to me leaving her to answer it. Although she watches intently, waiting for me to come back to her.

  Reading the message Carter sent, I try to keep my expression neutral and tell her, “I have to go.”

  “You do that a lot,” she comments before I bend down to give her a goodbye kiss.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m right here. I’ll always be here.” A warmth settles through me with her whispered words.

  “Is it going to be okay?” she asks, not hiding her worry.

  “As okay as it ever is,” I answer her truthfully. “We may know where Jenny is,” I tell her and watch as she braces herself from the statement. “We’re going to find her tonight.”

  “Jase, I love you,” she whispers. “Make sure you come back to me. I’m not done fighting with you yet.” A sad smile attempts to show, masking her worry, although it only makes her look that much more beautiful.

  “I look forward to coming back here so you can yell at me some more,” I say to play along with her, leaving a gentle kiss against her lips. When I pull back her eyes are still closed, her fist gripping my shirt like she doesn’t want to let go.

  “I’ll come back.” I swallow thickly and promise her, “I’ll come back.”

  Jase

  There’s a bridge that looks over the ferry. It leads to the docks where our shipments come in. With my brothers behind me and Seth next to me, we stare at the worn door that lies beneath the bridge.

  It’s made of steel and looks like it’s been here as long as the bridge has; the shrubbery simply obscured it.

  “We still don’t know what’s inside,” Sebastian comments.

  “Jenny,” I answer. “I know she’s in there.” I can feel it in my bones that we’re closer to where we’re supposed to be. Even in the pitch-black night, with the cold settling into every crevice, we’re close. I know we are.

  “Let’s hope so.” Carter’s deep voice is spoken lowly as he steps next to me, facing the bridge and considering the possibilities.

  “Ten men?” I ask Carter, looking over my shoulder at the rows of black SUVs parked in a line. “Do they know?”

  “They know we need them here and that’s all. They’re waiting for orders.”

  “Ten of them?” Seth repeats my question.

  “Do you think that’s overkill?” Carter questions in return. It’s just the four of us, me and Seth and him and Sebastian, along with our ten men. Daniel and Declan are home with guards of their own. Just in case anyone sees us leaving as an opening to hit us where it hurts. In this life, there is never a moment for weakness and having someone you love at home is exactly that, a weakness waiting to be exploited.

  “I don’t know if it’ll be enough,” Sebastian answers. His hand hasn’t left his gun since we got out of the car. He’s ready for war and prepared for the worst. He knows what it’s like to be given an order by Marcus better than any of us. By the way he’s acting it looks like he expects each of our names to be on a hit list given to Marcus’s army.

  “It wasn’t supposed to turn into this. It should have been low key.” Seth looks concerned as he searches the edge of the bridge for signs of anyone watching or waiting. “He has eyes everywhere.”

  “If Marcus wants to kill us, I imagine he could do it with no men,” I tell the group who have gathered around us.

  “We’re walking underground with no concept of what’s there.”

  “Explosives would do it,” I say, completing the thought that lingers in the back of my mind.

  “You think he knows?” Carter asks.

  “I think we should assume he does,” Seth answers.

  “If he didn’t before we got here, he does now.” The realization hits me hard. “All of us can’t go in there. This was a mistake.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Carter snaps.

  “There are too many questions unanswered. If we all go in, he could see it as either us declaring war or an opportunity… We can’t give him the opportunity. He can know war is coming though.”

  “We go in together,” Carter insists as I grip my gun tighter, feeling my palm get hot with the need to do something.

  “Think about Aria.” I try to persuade him to go back home.

  “I am. I’m thinking about my family and about bringing them home. Open up the fucking door.”

  “Don’t leave her a widow,” I warn him. “Not for me.”

  “She knows what I’m doing. She knows the risk.” I can only nod, thinking that Bethany knows the same. Carter adds, “She told me not to come home without Bethany’s sister. She knows and she wants Jenny home too. Open it.” With the command and the four of us moving forward, the men gather behind us, all of us walking to the small door.

  With a gun trained on the lock, Sebastian fires and a flash of light and red sparks from the gun being shot leads to the groan of the heavy door being opened. Sebastian steps aside and only nods as we move forward. His eyes are focused straight ahead as he orders the men around us, keeping a lookout and moving forward to clear the way.

  “I’ll go in first,” I tell him, stepping in front and preparing myself for what we’ll find.

  The steel floors grate as I step forward, letting my eyes adjust and not daring to breathe. The musk of the water’s edge is heavier when the door opens. A steel rail keeps me from stepping forward and it’s then I notice the door leads to a spiral staircase down. It reminds me of the shed at The Red Room. The place men go to die but unlike them, we’re walking down there willingly. A cold prick flows down my skin like needles.

  “We don’t have a choice.” Carter pushes the words through clenched teeth before I can urge him to turn around.

  “This is my fight,” I tell him one last time.

  “We fight together.” The weight against me feels more significant than it ever has before. “Bastian,” I call before taking another step forward. “Don’t let a single man here die.”

  He tells me simply and then motioning with his chin for me to continue, “I wasn’t planning on it. In and out. No casualties.”

  With a nod and a look back at Carter and Seth, I take the stairs one at a time, noting how many there are and how far down it goes. Maybe two stories, if that. It’s got to be twenty feet down and
the steady drip from leaking pipes is all that makes a noise down here.

  Four men stay at the top and just outside the door as lookouts. The rest join us, making it ten men in a tight space, eight of them waiting on the stairs for the door at the bottom to be opened.

  Bang!

  It takes a second shot to shatter the lock and I toss it to the floor before slowly pushing open the door. Seth’s behind me, his gun raised and ready. Steadying my breathing, focusing on my racing pulse, I take in every inch that I can see.

  There’s no sign of anyone. No sign of anything at all down here. Anxiousness makes me doubt myself. Maybe she’s not here at all. With that thought, unexpectedly the lights turn on, one after the next, quickly illuminating the place.

  The sound of guns cocking and raising fills the tight space, but no one fires. The lights are newer than everything else. They’re placed into sconces bracketed against the walls which are a mix of thin plaster and tightly packed dirt.

  “Electric,” Seth notes. “Someone was hired to install these,” he says and I can already see the wheels spinning.

  “Look for a paper trail when we get back,” I tell him, leading the way further into the unknown territory. “If Marcus hired someone, they may have seen him or someone who has.”

  “Already noted.”

  I have to stop before I get more than five feet in; there are so many rooms, so many branching paths. “It’s almost like a mine the way it’s built with a maze of halls.”

  “Where do we start?” Seth asks. His expression appears overwhelmed as he moves his gaze from one hall to the next. All open doors, and all could lead to armed men or worse.

  My brother comes up behind us, considering everything carefully. All the while I hear the tick of a clock in my head.

  “It could take hours.” The second the words slip out of my mouth, I hear a skittering in the dirt.

  A scraggly boy, thin but tall with lean muscle watches from the shadows to the left. The second I spot him, he takes off. My gun lifts first, instinctively ready, but he’s unarmed and I can hear his footsteps getting farther away.